the demons emerge not from darkness
or from under beds during nightmares
or in the swinging fists
of the drunken men in the street.

sometimes,
I find my demons lurking
in the outstretched hands of friends;
in the sweet nothings whispered in my ear;
in the shiny wrapping on gift bags.

I find demons
in the curled up corners of smiles like sunshine
that guard shadows with dusty corners
and the gossamer touches of ghosts
that feel almost like the caress
of a lover.

and maybe it’s true
that the thing that scares me the most
is that one day,
I’ll stop seeing the demons,
they’ll just be another shirt in the closet,
another word in a litany.
nothing.